Roxie's Nine Lives

I have a pound puppy and her name is Roxie (Rosie when I adopted her in 2005). I adopted her when she was 2 years old).  She's been with me for almost 15 years.  That's half of my married life. 

Let me start out by saying I never wanted a dog.  I'm not a dog person.  I didn't have one growing up and due to a childhood experience with wild dogs in a tent (that I have no recollection of) there's probably a good reason why.  I've always been a cat person.  They can feed themselves, bathe themselves, and on vacations they can stay home without a babysitter.  They smell like love and the outdoors, unless you make them mad.  Then they smell like a demon has mixed a potion in their loins that they splattered on every surface in your house and whatever items they sprayed will forever have a lingering smell of cat piss.  This is why most of my cats have been indoor/outdoor cats that play and potty outside and sleep and eat inside. 

I could fill a page lamenting over my cats but this is about my dog, Roxie. She was living in the Franklin County Animal Shelter and was about to be euthanized (at least that's what my sister said to convince me to take her). She was originally adopted by a lady while her husband was in Iraq and when her husband came home she was scared of him and peed on everything when he yelled. He took her back to the shelter. The first week we had her she jumped up on the couch on our clean white clothes that had just come out of the dryer. I yelled for her to get off of my clean clothes and she proceeded pee right there.  Crazy dog. Thank God she stopped doing that. 

Roxie is almost 17 years old and has almost died many, many times. She always bounces back with a little care and love.  She is easily startled and has run away before over fireworks, hunting neighbors, and once just for meanness.  I've had to create several missing fliers, go on neighborhood searches with my mom, and worry over her sleeping out in the cold or wet. She'd always come back or be found eventually with her tail curled and a smile on her face. 

Well, this may be her last hooray.  When we got our son's chihuahua several years ago, he enjoyed (and still does some) nipping at Roxie's back haunches.  She developed a fatty tumor back there and over the years it has grown but never bothered her.  Let me just say, I probably should have had her taken out of her misery months ago but that's the problem, she's not miserable.  She doesn't complain unless I touch her sore arthritic hip. She eats, drinks, potties, pees, follows me around, and wants to be right under my feet.  I don't think she's ready to lose me.  LOL

A couple of weeks ago she stumbled down our front steps because of that fatty tumor and over the next few days it began to fill with fluid.  I was keeping and eye on it but she gets into trouble when we go to sleep.  She sleeps in a space by my bed that's kind of like her domain.  Let's just say, she destroyed the tumor and her bed is in the washer.  I'm keeping the area clean and dry and so far there's no infection and it doesn't seem to restrict her much. I put a knee high pantyhose over the bandage to keep it on her leg.  She walks out of every other bandage or sock I put on there. So far, so good.

I guess what I wanted to say is, sometimes the will to move forward is stronger than our meat sack we call a body and the will to live may be the only thing keeping us putting one foot in front of the other.  Let's all listen to Roxie. "Just keep moving forward".  Every day above ground is a good day if you ask me.

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